


The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known

by Bluestocking79



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Farce, Fluff and Angst, Forced Proximity, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magical Accidents, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24212284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluestocking79/pseuds/Bluestocking79
Summary: When a spell gone wrong forces Howard and Vince to get closer to each other in more ways than one, certain things are forced into the open. Written for the Bringing Back the Boosh Fic Exchange 2020. Slight AU, set post-Party.
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 15
Kudos: 42
Collections: Bringing Back the Boosh 2020 Fic Exchange





	The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Little_Boosh_Maid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid/gifts).



> Thank you to the mods for a gift of an assignment, thank you to a_little_boosh_maid for a perfect prompt, thank you to thatswherethelightgetsin for helping me wrangle my messy, half-formed ideas into a semblance of a plot, and thank you to concupiscence66 for being a treasured friend and tireless cheerleader. Thank you, especially, to Culumacilinte, who is the other half of my brain, the other half of my heart, and the best writing partner (and occasional motivational coach) that anyone could ever have. Without all of them, this story would not exist.

"What d'you _mean_ , three weeks?" Vince's voice crept higher with each word, perilously close to the squawk it always took on when he was indignant about something. "I can't be having that. Imagine it, three weeks of having him follow me around Camden like a creeper. What are people gonna think?!" Here he gestured at Howard as though he were a particularly unfashionable and embarrassing accessory "That'll kill my reputation so dead even you couldn't bring it back. C'mon, Naboo, there must be _something_."

"Not really." Naboo shrugged, unmoved, still calmly packing his case with all the urgency of an exceptionally high sloth. "I mean, there is a way to undo the enchantment, but like I said, it's gonna take three weeks. The fruit of the Zidru tree only grows in the highest mountains of Sendar for six weeks out the year, and then it has to be distilled down to its essence before it's safe to drink. It's not like I can just send Bollo down to Tesco to pick it up. These things take time, yeah?" He pointed a scolding finger at Vince. "Remember that, next time you wanna go mucking about with my stuff."

" _Naboo_." Vince's eyes were wide and pleading and pretty enough that Howard felt simultaneously embarrassed and irritated by how effective that tactic still was on him, even when he wasn't the target. Vince flirted with every living thing to get what he wanted; that didn't mean Howard had to keep noticing so keenly.

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly thrilled about this either, you know," he said, because being annoyed was easier than being confused. "I've got things to do, too. I'm a busy man! I've got a demanding schedule to keep up, and I don't need you getting in my way and cramping my style."

Vince snorted, rolling his eyes theatrically. "Your _style_? What, socks and sandals? If anything, I'd be enhancing your style; maybe you'd actually pull for once." He'd been so much meaner since the party. "But yeah, wouldn't want to get in the way of your very demanding schedule of not talking to pretty girls and going round Lester Corncrake's to wank into old trombones together." 

"Hey, he just needs a bit of help since the beheading business." Howard narrowed his eyes, ignoring Vince's scoff. "Anyway, it's all your fault we're tied together like this. I'm not the one who had to go mucking around with Naboo's spellbooks again. Why'd you have to go and do that? What'd you think you were doing, trying to _bind_ me here?"

"It weren't my fault!" Vince squeaked, suddenly blushing furiously. "I just--thought it'd be a laugh, yeah? You oughta be grateful; I'm saving you from going off with any more sea monsters in disguise, just 'cos they batted their eyelashes at you." 

Howard could feel himself going red. "For the last time, I didn't know that was Old Gregg, did I? Why can't you just--"

Naboo shut his suitcase with a decisive click. "Bollo, you packed yet?"

Bollo nodded from the doorway, already dressed in a straw hat and sunglasses. "Bollo ready. Got the carpet started." 

"Cheers, Bollo. Let's get going." Naboo paused to pin both Howard and Vince with a look, as Bollo hoisted his case. "I expect you two can run the shop for three weeks without killing each other or burning the place down?" The tone of his voice suggested that he expected no such thing.

Howard drew himself up to his full height, mustache bristling with pride. "Of course. I am a consummate professional, Naboo, and you know you can count on me to never allow any personal preoccupations to interfere with my solemn duty and responsibility as a shopkeeper. I have mastered the art of rising above such petty and childish irritants." 

Vince said nothing, but his snort of muffled sniggering spoke for itself 

Naboo stared at Howard for a long moment, expressionless. "Yeah, we're fucked." He took off down the hall behind Bollo. "Try not to _actually_ kill each other, yeah? Don't wanna clean that up."

****

They discovered fairly quickly that going out was impossible under these conditions. The nature of the enchantment meant that they could never be more than two and half meters apart without one or the other of them being tugged along by the magical tether binding them together. In theory, this didn't rule out venturing beyond the confines of the flat and the Nabootique, but in practice, this meant that when they tried to go out with Vince's mates, there were questions all night about why he'd brought his dad along, and when they ventured to the more jazz-friendly spaces Howard preferred, Vince inevitably had an asthma attack or broke out in hives. Home was the one place where they were equally at ease, which was to say that they were equally miserable.

There were other inconveniences. The bathroom was a bit of a fraught issue to begin with, but it was manageable for one of them to wait out in the hall for the other… unless you were using the bath, which was just far enough to stretch the magical tether to its limit. The person left on the outside had to stand with their face smashed up against the door for however long the other person took to bathe. 

"You don't _have_ to wait out in the hall like a barnacle," Vince pointed out when Howard complained about his hour-long ablutions. "Why don't you just come in? You can just sit on the toilet or the floor or whatever; you don't have to look."

It was bad enough having to stand out in the hall and think about Vince being naked, doing naked things, just on the other side of the door, but the thought of being in the room while Vince was bathing _(naked_ , his brain helpfully reminded him) made Howard feel like his brain was going to explode out of his eyeballs. 

What if he looked? What if Vince caught him looking? He'd never hear the end of it.

"And if you do wanna look, 'm not gonna stop you," Vince added with a wink and an exaggerated pose, as though he'd guessed exactly what embarrassing filth lurked in Howard's mind. "I mean, who could blame you?"

Howard's blood ran cold and his face was hot and his voice jumped half an octave.

"Absolutely not! Not everyone's an exhibitionist, Vince! Just because you don't have any respect for yourself doesn't mean I have to--"

"Alright! Alright, cool your boots, Aunt Nellie, don't get your knickers all bunched up. You can wait out in the hall if you want to." The _you freak_ was unspoken but very clearly written all over Vince's face. For just a moment, Howard thought there was a shadow of disappointment as well--but that was probably wishful thinking. "I was just trying to make it easier on you."

"Doing the proper and respectful thing is no hardship for a man of the world like myself, Vince," Howard continued, warming to the topic. "I'm from good, hardy Northern stock, and we can take a little mild discomfort--not like you soft, Southern types."

The sheer amount of skepticism expressed by Vince's single snort was both an impressive achievement and deeply unflattering to Howard.

"Right, I forgot you're a regular hard man," Vince drawled, in a way that made Howard want to blush for reasons that he didn't understand. Vince shrugged, a spark of something unidentifiable in his eyes. "Have it your way, then, Iron Man."

The next morning, when Vince's morning routine ran an extra thirty minutes longer with no explanation, Howard decided that the thing he had been unable to identify in Vince's eyes had been spite. The imprint of the molding on the bathroom door remained on his face for half the day, and three separate customers inquired about Howard's "cool face tattoos."

Vince laughed every time.

****

Bedtime proved to be another point of contention.

Despite the fact that they weren't going out, Vince was well accustomed to a schedule of staying up and alert until the wee hours of the morning and rolling out of bed at a leisurely pace around noon. Howard, meanwhile, had a perfectly sensible schedule for a man of his age and responsibilities, which meant that he went to bed at precisely 11 every night and woke without fail at 7 am, with or without an alarm. Ordinarily, this meant that Howard had the optimal amount of time to get ready, eat a healthy and fiber-filled breakfast, and give a cursory glance at the news of the day before preparing to open the shop at 9 on the dot. He had a system, and the system worked.

Except that it no longer did. Vince stayed up until 3 am, chatting on the phone and texting and dicking about on the internet and listening to terrible music and playing around with his makeup and watching cartoons, which meant that Howard also did not get to bed until 3 am. He still woke at 7, as though biologically programmed to do so, but since Vince didn't wake until noon, this meant precious hours wasted, sitting sullenly in his bed, unable to adhere to his sensible routine and neglecting his responsibilities to the Nabootique, while Vince caught up on his beauty sleep. (Admittedly, they never really had customers in the shop before noon anyway, so technically nothing was lost by opening late, but it was the _principle_ of the thing, Howard's brain insisted.)

This lasted for three days before the sleep deprivation--and resentment--frayed Howard's nerves to the absolute breaking point. As he sat with red-rimmed eyes, watching precious seconds tick away while Vince snored with blissful abandon, Howard felt something inside him give way. He had had enough of snoring, and sitting, and watching the world take on a wavery, unreal quality over the last several days as he slowly lost what remained of his mind.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't! It was nothing new for Vince to be inconsiderate, but that didn't mean Howard simply had to tolerate it. The bond went both ways, after all.

Emboldened by that epiphany, Howard stood up, got out of bed, and headed towards the bathroom the way he ought to have done for the last three days. When he felt the tug of the magical tether upon him, he yanked in the opposite direction. Hard.

The shocked, indignant yelp Vince made whilst falling out of bed was nearly as satisfying as the look on his face. "Oi! What's your problem? I was sleeping!"

"Well, that makes one of us." Howard continued out into the hall, dragging Vince, squawking and protesting, behind him. "Time to get up, sunshine!"

"Are you mental? Howard, you've gone wrong!" Vince scrambled to his feet and stood his ground. "Nobody's ever even _in_ the shop this early. We don't have to get up at the arse crack of dawn!"

 _"It's the principle of the thing!"_ Even to his own ears, Howard's voice sounded shrill and hysterical. "I can't go on like this. I've barely slept in days. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I can hear the sound of time. Yesterday, I spent forty-five minutes trying to sell records to a coat rack!" The coat rack had driven quite a hard bargain, and Howard had been quite proud of the sharpness of his negotiating skills until an actual customer had interrupted and asked if he was feeling alright. Behind the counter, Vince had laughed so hard he'd fallen over.

Even now, Vince couldn't help a giggle. "That _was_ quite funny, actually."

_"VINCE!"_

Vince held up his hands, eyes wide. "It was! But alright, alright. Fine. If you're gonna kick off about it, we can get up early and sit around for hours until someone comes in."

"And we're going to bed at eleven," Howard pressed. 

Vince rolled his eyes, theatrically put-upon. "And we're going to bed at… midnight?"

"Vince!"

"Okay! Fine. Call it… 11:30?" 

Vince's eyes were wide and pleading and hopeful. Howard turned away and headed back towards the hall without a word, letting Vince be tugged behind him.

Vince was, over the course of the day, able to wheedle Howard down to a bedtime of 11:45. This had everything to do with Howard's generous spirit of compromise and nothing to do with the effectiveness of Vince's forlorn puppydog eyes.

If they had to be tied together night and day for the foreseeable future, at least Howard was going to do it on a sufficient amount of sleep. And if he happened to make two cups of tea the following morning without being asked, well, that was just being gracious in victory.

****

Howard marked off the day with great flourish. It was very satisfying to slash a large red X through the 28th June, adding to the line of X marks. "Look at that! We've made it nearly two weeks already. Naboo will be back and this will all be straightened out before you know it."

They had technically only made it 9 days so far, but Howard figured that nearly made it a week and a half, which nearly made it two weeks, so really, they were practically there. 

"You'll see," he continued, tucking the red pen back into his pencil case. "Soon, it'll be like this never happened, and we can just put it in the past."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," Vince said. His eyes were fixed on last hour's copy of Cheekbone.

Howard paused, because yes, he would in fact very much like that, but the sour tone of Vince's voice suggested that this was somehow a _bad_ thing.

"What does that mean?" he finally asked.

Vince finally looked up, shooting a disdainful look at the calendar before settling on Howard. "Nothing. Just means you like to make messes and then pretend things never happened." 

"Pardon me? _I_ make messes? I'm not the one trailing clothes and… and empty plates and sweets wrappers everywhere and expecting someone to come along and pick up behind me!" The accusation was so ridiculous that Howard couldn't let it go unchallenged. "Besides, I'm not even the one who made this particular mess, am I? You just couldn't leave well enough alone, had to go messing about with Naboo's books to have a laugh at poor old Howard."

"Yeah, well, I didn't know this was gonna happen, did I?" Vince abandoned even the pretense of reading his magazine. He made a face of disgust. "Believe me, if I'd known the result was gonna be being stuck with you all night and day, I'd've reconsidered. Having to watch you floss your teeth for forty minutes and clip your toenails to measure against a ruler--no one needs to see that!" 

"Good dental hygiene is very important, Vince," Howard said primly. "And you're one to talk. I don't exactly relish watching you tuck your balls up your own arse so you can wear the latest fashionable torture device, either. This is why you shouldn't go messing around with things beyond your grasp. You're a simple man, Vince; magical rituals require a deep and serious _intellect_ \--"

"It ain't like you're an expert! I just didn't think--"

"But you never do, do you? No, no, thinking about consequences is for other people, not for Vince Noir! You just _do_ things without ever thinking about the consequences for other people and then go on to the next big trend." Now that Howard had started speaking, he couldn't stop. "Oh no, things just always work out for the perfect and beautiful and eternally lucky Vince Noir, because he never has to think about anything beyond the five seconds it takes for an impulse to flit through his single brain cell!"

Vince's face was starting to turn an unflattering shade of red. "Yeah? Well, better not thinking enough and actually doing things, instead of just sitting like a lump, doing nothing but thinking and watching the world go by and never actually doing any of it, 'cos you're too much of a coward to even _try_."

That was it. Of course Vince was throwing that knowledge in his face. Of _course_ he was. For all Vince's protestations about how inexperience was fine and normal and women wouldn't mind it, Howard had always known deep in his gut that this moment was coming. He could feel his hands balling into fists. He needed some fresh air, needed to walk around and brood and feel misunderstood and to construct clever comebacks several hours too late and be anywhere but here, stuck in this stupid flat with stupid Vince saying stupid things that Howard didn't want to think about and--

He got as far as the top of the stairs before the tug of the enchantment stopped him in his tracks, an unwelcome reminder. It didn't matter where he went; Vince _had_ to follow, whether he wanted to or not. There was no place where Howard could just be alone. There was no escape.

Howard settled for pointedly huffing and turning his back to Vince, arms crossed.

Vince's laughter had no humor in it. "Fine, go ahead and sulk there! I get it, you're mad you can't run away from your problems again, just like you always do."

Howard momentarily forgot that he was supposed to be sulking. He turned to stare at Vince incredulously. "What on Earth are you even talking about?" he demanded. "When have I run away? I'm--I'm stalwart, steadfast! Howard Moon is a man of substance! You're the--the _flibbertigibbet_ who just flits about from party to party and friend to friend and never looks back at who he's leaving behind!"

"A man of substance," Vince scoffed. "What substance, plasticine? You're _always_ running away from me, making me chase after you! When you left school for the zoo, whenever you wanted to run off and be a famous writer or interior designer or a binman or--whatever, some poncy, wanky thing that didn't involve me. When we were on the bouncy castle at the party…" Vince's face twisted up for a moment, bitter and furious and sad. "Howard, even when there were only two of us on that island, you couldn't wait to get away from me! You'd rather _make up some stupid boring wanker_ to be your pretend mate than actually ever talk about anything with me!"

Howard blinked. "That's not what--wait. The island? You're talking about the island?" He shook his head, as though this would make everything make more sense. It did not. "Now, be reasonable, Vince. We were both off our heads on rancid coconuts, and anyway, that was almost a year ago. You can't _still_ be upset about that now. I'm sure we both did some regrettable things under the influence, might have made some questionable decisions, but it wasn't really _real_ , now was it--"

Vince had pressed his hands to his ears like a child. "Just shut up, alright! Just stop talking."

"And anyway," Howard continued, strolling over, sensing that he might, at long last, have the advantage for once. "Anyway, I don't even know what you have to be upset about! You certainly didn't waste any time moving on, did you? You were living it up, rubbing my face in it! So what if I made _one_ friend; you made an entire flock of hipster coconuts to admire you--"

"What was I supposed to _do_? You banished me! You kept making up reasons why I wasn't good enough for your stupid little club--"

"--and you made a harem of coconut wives to worship you and show off how much better you are than me--"

"AND YOU CHUCKED ME! IN FRONT OF EVERYONE! AND WENT OFF WITH THE FIRST GIRL YOU SAW!" The words almost seemed to erupt out of Vince, like even he hadn't known they were coming.

"...what?" Howard's voice sounded at once very small and too loud. Why were they talking about the party? Hadn't they agreed not to talk about the party? His head hurt. "What are you talking about? That wasn't any--it was a momentary lapse of judgement, alright? You said it yourself, it was just a kiss!"

Vince let out a noise that was half roar and half scream, reaching for the nearest object. Before Howard could react, something smacked him in the face--hollow enough not to do real damage, but hard enough to sting. It was his jazz pencil case, he realized, staring down in horror at its now-cracked remains. "Oh! Not Thelonius Monk! Vince, how could you?"

Vince wasn't answering; he was already running off to the bathroom, the enchantment forcing Howard to follow along behind him. Vince slammed the bathroom door behind him, leaving Howard stranded alone out in the hallway.

"Vince? Vince! Come on, Vince, can't we just talk? I--I forgive you for the pencil case!"

Vince said nothing, but there was the sound of movement inside the bathroom; the next thing Howard knew, he was being pulled forward until his face was smashed against the door. 

It appeared that Vince wasn't interested in reconciliation just yet.

"Alright then," Howard said, slumping down against the door, defeated. He was physically stuck here until Vince decided to relent. And his face still hurt a bit, too.

It was going to be a long night.

****

It was well into the middle of the night before Vince relented enough to open the door, unceremoniously yanking it open and forcing a dozing Howard to fall flat on his face. Vince snorted but said nothing, and Howard was too exhausted to protest or do much else besides follow him into the bedroom and fall onto his own bed and into a fitful sleep.

He woke the next morning stiff and aching all over from having slept for hours in a bizarre position. There was a pink mark going straight across his face, courtesy of Vince's pencil case attack. (Thelonius Monk, Howard reflected, had packed a surprising punch.) Even his emotions seemed to be in on the mood; his entire being, somehow, felt bruised.

From the look of him, Vince wasn't faring much better. He still wasn't saying a word, and his facial expressions seemed solely limited to a range of glares, from sullen to baleful, but his eyes were red and bloodshot, and there were dark circles underneath that he hadn't bothered to cover with makeup. Nor, for that matter, had he spared even a minute on his hair; it hung in a limp and messy tangle that was more Stig of the Dump than rock and roll.

The petty part of Howard--larger, always, than he wanted to think it was--felt a certain satisfaction in it; there was something grimly vindicating in knowing that Vince was suffering, too. The rest of him was a stew of jangled, contradictory feelings that were neither welcome nor appreciated. There was something deeply wrong in being able to actually see Vince this way; it was unsettling to see him make no attempt at putting on a game face, either literally or figuratively. He looked small and naked and vulnerable in a strange way that Howard hadn't seen or even thought about since their school days.

Howard worked hard to squelch the unwanted pangs of sympathy. After all, it was Vince who had caused this whole mess in the first place. Double, even, because he'd cast the spell _and_ picked a fight for no reason, dredging up old, long-settled business and picking open barely-healed wounds when they'd been getting along just fine! Well, mostly fine. Adequately. At least they'd been on speaking terms. 

If he was unhappy, Vince had only himself to blame for his suffering, and Howard would magnanimously accept his apology whenever he got over himself enough to offer it. He certainly wasn't going to be the first one to speak. Howard was the injured party. Vince had attacked him out of nowhere, for no good reason. Vince had thrown something at him! No, Howard's conscience was clear, and if Vince thought he was punishing Howard in some way by freeing Howard from his constant running stream of prattle, he had another thing coming. Honestly, he'd done him a favor.

Only… it _was_ very quiet. Vince being quiet was at least as weird as Vince not having his usual armor on, and what was worse was that it left Howard alone with the sound of only his own thoughts for company.

Being stuck with nothing but his own internal monologue for an entire day was, unfortunately, just long enough for him to realize that it was actually a bit of an insufferable dick.

Howard fell into bed that night sore and grumpy and upset for reasons he didn't know how to understand, much less describe, fully anticipating a night of bad sleep and bad dreams. 

  
  


****

The noise was small, so much so that Howard would have missed it completely if he'd been just a shade closer to actual sleep. Instead it woke him up fully, a soft stirring of bedding and creaking of bedsprings that had him blinking blearily out into the dark of the bedroom. Between the moon and the streetlights, the room was bathed dimly in blue and orange. There was his bookcase, there was the chair piled high with Vince's clothes, there was Vince in the bed across the room, and-- _oh_.

Not five feet away from him, Vince Noir was clearly embarking on a sneaky midnight wank. His pyjama pants were down around his knees and his cock was out and he was hard and he was touching himself. Howard simultaneously wanted much less light and much more of it.

He wasn't supposed to be watching this.

He couldn't look away.

He was pretty sure you weren't supposed to want to _see more_ when you accidentally caught your best mate having a wank, but here he was, fixed in place, straining his eyes for more detail and holding his breath and feeling his own cock stir.

He wondered if Vince was thinking about anyone in particular. He hated the stupid, hopeful flutter in his chest that wanted it to be him.

Meanwhile, Vince shifted in bed, pushing into the hand wrapped around his prick, starting to move. His breath hitched a little, face screwing up, and before he knew it, Howard heard his own soft, small, "oh" pierce the darkness. 

Fuck. _Fuck_.

Vince's head snapped up, hand stilling (but still on his cock, oh god, why couldn't Howard stop looking at it). 

_Sorry! I'm sorry! Don't kill me!_ Howard wanted to blurt, but he hadn't spoken in more than 24 hours by this point, and it was like some crucial connection had dried up in the interim. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He cringed.

Maybe Vince had forgotten how to speak, too, because the tirade that Howard had braced for--that he _deserved_ \--never came. Instead Vince's face cycled from shock to embarrassment to anger, finally landing on something wicked.

Howard's brain was terrified. His cock was intrigued.

Vince turned to face Howard fully, making absolutely no effort to cover himself, smug and shameless. _Well?_ his face said. _Go on, get a good look, then, unless you're too scared._

It felt like an invitation. It felt like a challenge.

Howard could feel himself flushing from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes, but he wasn't going to be the one to look away first. He lifted his chin, trying to project something like defiance. _Who's a coward now, hmm? Not me, no sir._ He could be brave. He _could._

And that was absolutely what this was about, of course. Howard was just standing his ground and proving that Vince was wrong about him being a coward. He certainly wasn't curious about where this could go. No, this was all about principle.

There was a moment, just a fleeting one, of genuine surprise on Vince's face, leading to an equally fleeting feeling of triumph on Howard's part. Then Vince smiled, wide and sharp, and he took his dick in hand once more, starting to stroke. He arched into it, pushing up his shirt to expose a long expanse of moonlit belly.

All the while, his eyes were locked on Howard's. 

He was pretty certain he'd never been more turned on. His cock was hard and leaking, and he couldn't help thrusting up a little towards the duvet, desperately seeking some kind of friction.

Vince laughed a little, but for the first time in far too long, it sounded fond instead of mean. He shifted his gaze to Howard's crotch and helpless writhing and shrugged a shoulder, continuing to tug on himself obscenely. _You're free to join in_ , his smirk suggested.

It was a terrible idea. It was absolutely the worst idea Howard had ever had, without question, and he'd never wanted to do anything more. He thought back again to Vince accusing him of being too scared to do anything, and maybe Vince was a little bit right, but here was an opportunity to _do a thing_ right now, right in front of him, and Howard was going to grab it with both hands.

So to speak.

Howard held his breath, pushing the duvet and his pyjama pants down, taking himself in hand before he could lose his nerve. He squinched his eyes shut, every muscle in his body tense, half-braced for more laughter, but instead he heard a sharp intake of breath from the other bed. 

A surge of triumph filled Howard. _You didn't think I'd do it, but look at me now!_

He opened his eyes to see that Vince _was_ looking at him, eyes wide and intense and appreciative, licking his lips. Maybe, Howard thought wildly, maybe that earlier flutter of hope hadn't been so ridiculous and shameful after all.

If he concentrated, it felt almost like it was Vince's hand curling around his prick, like it was Vince's thumb swirling around the head, Vince toying with his foreskin, Vince teasing until he ached for more.

Vince raised his eyebrows. _Shall we?_

Howard nodded back--desperately, gratefully--and after that, there was no room to think about much of anything except his cock, Vince's cock, Vince's eyes locked on his. Howard bit his lip at first, afraid to break the spell with any noise, but then Vince let out a moan that fizzed all the way down Howard's spine to his bollocks, and it no longer seemed so important to restrain himself.

He kept his eyes on Vince as long as he could, right up until Howard was so close he could no longer keep his eyes open. Across the room, he heard a shout and a groan, and the knowledge that Vince was coming, that Vince had come, from this, from _him_ , was more than enough to have him teetering on the edge. His brain was a constant loop of Vince, Vince's cock, Vince's moans, Vince's _eyes_ \--

"Vince! Fuck!"

The words slipped out without Howard's permission, souring the hazy afterglow of orgasm with a sobering dread. He'd gone and ruined it now, surely. Was he even sure Vince hadn't been doing it for a laugh? Maybe Vince had just been pulling him in so he could humiliate himself more than ever, so Vince could have a laugh at what a pathetic fool he was. Howard cringed, eyes closed, afraid to look and confirm the absolute worst.

But Vince said nothing, and enough time passed that the buzzing of anxiety began to fade, lulling Howard back towards sleep. He had nearly dropped off completely when he heard a voice from the other side of the room, so quiet that he couldn't be sure he hadn't dreamed it.

"G'night, Howard."

****

The morning after their first… Howard's mind skittered away from the terrifying enormity of the word 'sex' and settled on 'intimacy'... Howard and Vince wished each other a stilted good morning, and made it halfway through a breakfast punctuated by shy glances and awkward pauses before devolving into an argument that had them both refusing to speak to each other for the rest of the day.

That night, Vince made no pretense about trying to hide his wank. Howard joined him, and if one or both of them happened to say someone's name when they came, they were each good enough to pretend not to have heard.

On the second morning after, they spoke mostly in monosyllables and discussed absolutely nothing related to the many things currently going on between them, but they did also manage to avoid actual argument. When Vince went to shower, Howard did not wait in the hall, and he did not avert his eyes.

That night, Vince stayed in his bed for about fifteen minutes before coming over to insinuate himself into Howard's instead. Howard's second kiss was leagues better than his first, particularly since it was accompanied by Vince rubbing his hard cock against Howard's and a very satisfactory orgasm. Afterward, Vince curled into Howard's side, a presence at once novel and comfortingly familiar. 

"'m sorry," Vince murmured. 

Howard froze for a moment, as though motion might break the spell. "Yeah, me too." It was easier to admit it in the dark.

"I shouldn't have cast the spell," Vince continued. "I was just--you get restless, you know you do. You were gonna leave, and I--I panicked. I didn't want you to."

"Wait. What?" Howard had suddenly found himself in the middle of what seemed a very different conversation. "What d'you… what're you talking about? Vince?"

Vince was quiet for so long that Howard almost wondered if he'd suddenly retreated back to the silent treatment, if they'd have to start all over again. He could feel Vince's muscles tensed, like a rabbit ready to run. 

Vince had half hidden his face, his voice muffled by Howard's armpit. "Well, you know… like how you went off with the bin men, or off with Old Gregg, or off with Milky Joe…"

Irritation fizzed in Howard's brain. "You're jealous of a make-believe coconut? How long are you going to keep throwing that in my face, exactly? I _told_ you, it was a year ago, and it wasn't real anyway, and--"

 _"Howard."_ Vince's voice cut through the haze of Howard's annoyance, stopping him short. Vince sounded sad and scared and small, and… when exactly had that happened?

What else had he missed?

Howard ran back the last few minutes of conversation to himself and came to the conclusion that he might, possibly, have missed something crucial.

"Oh." Howard didn't know what else to say; the concept was too huge and strange to wrap his mind around. Vince _wanted_ him to stay? Vince wanted him to stay so badly that he'd done something stupid and reckless to try and ensure it. The silence stretched out as he struggled to make all the contradictory puzzle pieces make sense together.

"But," he finally said, flailing for words. "I thought you _wanted_ me to go."

Vince raised his head a bit, cautiously peering through a mess of dark hair. "Did you really not realize...?"

The corner of Howard's mouth turned up. He felt the giddy urge to shout from the rooftops again. Instead, he said, "You could've just said."

"You plum!" Vince smacked his shoulder. "Like you're one to talk," he added, but the scoffing was undermined by his decision to use Howard's belly for a pillow, like a cat claiming his chosen territory. Howard suddenly flashed back to every single belly touch from Vince over the years, belatedly realizing that he might have been wrong to interpret them as an extended campaign to annoy and embarrass him.

"Touche," he said. "We're both idiots."

"I been telling you that for years," Vince said, before wrapping Howard into a spontaneous full-body hug, as hard as he could. "Howard… when Naboo comes back and this is all over and… you know. I don't want you to go."

A new, unprecedented sensation descended on Howard: calm. He was sure he'd never been less scared, or more certain, before in his life. 

"I don't want to go," he said, and he hugged Vince back.

  
  


****

  
  


Naboo and Bollo returned from their three-week interstellar jaunt on time, remarkably relaxed and suspiciously tan, both wearing enormous dark sunglasses. 

It was almost a surprise to see them--at some point, Howard had forgotten he'd even been counting the days until their return--but Vince greeted them cheerfully, helping Bollo drag in their luggage and dispensing hugs while Naboo rummaged around in the bedroom

"So, Naboo… How'd it go? Got any potions for us?"

"Yeah, got it. Just drink this, and you should be fine." Naboo emerged from the bedroom with two glasses, each filled with a fizzy red liquid. "Best to drink it all in one go. Don't want it to lose its potency, yeah?"

"Cheers, Naboo! You're a diamond." Vince downed his in one go, without hesitation. "Ooh, I like this one! Well good. All sort of berry-ish and cherry-ish."

Howard squinted at his now empty glass. "Tastes like Vimto," he said, turning his gaze towards Naboo and raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah! It tastes exactly like Vimto," Vince agreed, delighted. "A fruit that tastes just like Vimto! Imagine that, Howard."

"Yeah. Imagine that," Howard said flatly, eyes still on Naboo.

"Lots of things taste like Vimto," Naboo said, shrugging. "You two don't seem so eager to get away from each other anymore," he continued, staring pointedly at where Vince was half-draped against Howard's side.

Howard could feel himself going red under the scrutiny, even when it came from behind a pair of sunglasses. "Yeah, well, it's the principle of the thing," he sniffed, pulling Vince in closer and trying for a noble, defiant expression. 

"Are you having gas again?" Vince asked, peering up at Howard with a mixture of confusion and concern. "D'you need me to get them pills?"

"What? No, I just--I have nothing to hide. I'm proud and unashamed." 

Vince looked up at Howard, mischief in his eyes. "As if you are! You horde up all those secrets like a hamster." Vince mimed huge, puffy cheeks. "That's you, all stuffed full of sneaky secret thoughts."

Howard raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yeah! That's why your head's all big. It's full of secrets, whooooa!" 

"Look who's talking, Chewy Cheeks!" 

That drew a squawk of mock outrage from Vince and set them off on a conversational river from which Howard only surfaced once they had--though several entirely logical twists--ended up on the topic of why grapes were not like grapefruits and whether either of them would be as effective as satsumas in a fight. He blinked to see that Naboo and Bollo were no longer there.

"Wait, where'd they go?' 

Vince cackled. "You numpty! They buggered off like fifteen minutes ago, didn't you notice? Said something about getting a kebab."

Howard had not, in fact, noticed this, and he flushed a little, but Vince was laughing and shaking his head--not disdainfully, but with a kind of twinkling fondness that reminded Howard of the Zoo times. It occurred to him that occasionally completely losing track of what was going on outside of a conversation with Vince was not the worst thing in the world. It felt like he'd found a favorite pair of comfortable old shoes under the bed that he'd thought had been lost for years, and could a man be blamed for wanting to not take them off once he'd found them again? Howard didn't think so.

Vince broke him out of his ruminating, tugging at Howard's flies. "C'mon, Howard, get those Nothern pins out."

Howard blinked. "That's a bit forward."

"Not that, you idiot!" Vince was already stripping down to his pants, leaving a trail of clothes out to the kitchen. "I wanna do some experimenting. Y'know, grapes versus grapefruits versus satsumas. You up for it?"

Howard was.

In the end, they reached no statistically significant conclusions, but as they both jumped into the shower to wash off their juice-sticky skin, Howard couldn't say he regretted the endeavor.


End file.
